_Ger._ Why couldn't I keep in it? It was very nice: you know nothing--and that's the nicest thing of all. Why is it we can't stop, William?

_Col. G._ I don't understand you, sir.

_Ger._ Stop living, I mean. It's no use killing yourself, for you don't stop then. At least they say you go on living all the same. If I thought it did mean stopping, William--

_Col. C._ Do come to your room, sir.

_Ger._ I won't. I'll stop here. How hot it is! Don't let anybody in.

_Stretches out his hand_. COL. G. _holds it. He falls asleep_.

_Col. G._ What _shall_ I do? If he married her, he'd be miserable, and make her miserable too. I'll take her away somewhere. I'll be a father to her; I'll tend her as if she were his widow. But what confusions would follow! Alas! alas! one crime is the mother of a thousand miseries! And now he's in for a fever--typhus, perhaps!--I _must_ find this girl!--What a sweet creature that Miss Lacordere is! If only he might have _her_! I don't care what she was.

_Ger._ Don't let them near me, William! They will drive me mad. They think I shall love them. I _will_ not. If she comes one step nearer, I shall strike her. You Diana! Hecate! h.e.l.l-cat!--Fire-hearted Chaos is burning me to ashes! My brain is a cinder! Some water, William!

_Col. G._ Here it is, sir.

_Ger._ But just look to Psyche there. Ah, she's off! There she goes!

melting away in the blue, like a dissolving vapour. Bring me my field-gla.s.s, William. I may catch a glimpse of her yet. Make haste.

_Col. G._ Pray don't talk so, sir. Do be quiet, or you will make yourself very ill. Think what will become of me if--

_Ger._ What worse would _you_ be, William? You are a soldier. I must talk. You are all wrong about it: it keeps me quiet (_holding his head with both hands_). I should go raving mad else (_wildly_). Give me some water. (_He drinks eagerly, then looks slowly round the room_.) Now they _are_ gone, and I do believe they won't come again! I see everything--and your face, William. You are very good to me--very patient! I should die if it weren't for you.

_Col. G._ I would die for you, sir.

_Ger._ Would you? But perhaps you don't care much for your life.

Anybody might have _my_ life for the asking. I dare say it's just as good to be dead.--Ah! there is a toad--a toad with a tail! No; it's a toad with a slow-worm after him. Take them away, William!--Thank you.--I used to think life pleasant, but now--somehow there's nothing in it. She told me the truth about it--Constance did. Don't let those women come back. What if I _should_ love them, William!--love and hate them both at once! William! William! (_A knock at the door_.) See who that is. Mind you don't let _them_ in.

_Col. G._ Martha is there, sir.

_Ger._ She's but an old woman; she can't keep them out. They would walk over her. All the G.o.ddesses have such long legs! You go and look.

You'll easily know them: if they've got no irises to their eyes, don't let them in, for the love of G.o.d, William! Real women have irises to their eyes: those have none--those frightful snowy beauties.--And yet snow is very nice! And I'm so hot! _There_ they come again! _Exit_ COL. G.

_Enter_ MRS. CLIFFORD.

_Ger._ Aunt! aunt! help me! There they come!

_Mrs. C._ What is it, my Arthur? They shan't hurt you. I am here. I will take care of you.

_Ger._ Yes, yes, you will! I am not a bit afraid of them now. Do you know them, aunt? I'll tell you a secret: they are Juno and Diana and Venus.--They hate sculptors. But I never wronged them. Three white women--only, between their fingers and behind their knees they are purple--and inside their lips, when they smile--and in the hollows of their eyes--ugh! They want me to love them; and they say you are all--all of you women--no better than they are. I _know_ that is a lie; for they have no eyelids and no irises to their eyes.

_Mrs. C._ Dear boy, they shan't come near you. Shall I sing to you, and drive them away?

_Ger._ No, don't. I can't bear birds in my brain.

_Mrs. C._ How long have you had this headache? (_laying her hand on his forehead_.)

_Ger._ Only a year or two--since the white woman came--that woman (_pointing to the Psyche_). She's been buried for ages, and won't grow brown.

_Mrs. C._ There's no woman there, Arthur.

_Ger._ Of course not. It was an old story that bothered me. Oh, my head! my head!--There's my father standing behind the door and won't come in!--_He_ could help me now, if he would. William! show my father in. But he isn't in the story--so he can't.

_Mrs. C._ Do try to keep yourself quiet, Arthur. The doctor will be here in a few minutes.

_Ger._ He shan't come here! He would put the white woman out. She does smell earthy, but I won't part with her. (_A knock_.) What a devil of a noise! Why don't they use the knocker? What's the use of taking a sledge-hammer?

_Mrs. C._ It's that stupid James!

_Enter_ CONSTANCE. MRS. C. _goes to meet her_.

_Mrs. C._ Constance, you go and hurry the doctor. I will stay with Arthur.

_Con._ Is he _very_ ill, aunt?

_Mrs. C._ I'm afraid he is.

_Ger._ (_sitting up_). Constance! Constance!

_Con._ Here I am! (_running to him_).

_Ger._ Oh, my head! I wish I could find somewhere to lay it!--Sit by me, Constance, and let me lay my head on your shoulder--for one minute--only one minute. It aches so! (_She sits down by him. His head sinks on her shoulder_. MRS. C. _looks annoyed, and exit_.)

_Con._ Thank you, thank you, dear Arthur! (_sobbing_). You used to like me! I could not believe you hated me now. You _have_ forgiven me?

Dear head!

_He closes his eyes. Slow plaintive music_.

_Ger._ (_half waking_). I can't read. When I get to the bottom of the page, I wonder what it was all about. I shall never get to Garibaldi!

and if I don't, I shall never get farther. If I could but keep that one line away! It drives me mad, mad. "He took her by the lily-white hand."--I could strangle myself for thinking of such things, but they _will_ come!--I _won't_ go mad. I should never get to Garibaldi, and never be rid of this red-hot ploughshare ploughing up my heart. I will _not_ go mad! I will die like a man.

_Con._ Arthur! Arthur!

_Ger._ G.o.d in heaven! she is there! And the others are behind her!--Psyche! Psyche! Don't speak to those women! Come alone, and I will tear my heart out and give it you.--It is Psyche herself now, and the rest are gone! Psyche--listen.

_Con._ It's only me, Arthur! your own little Constance! If aunt would but let me stay and nurse you! But I don't know what's come to her: she's not like herself at all.

_Ger._ Who's that behind you?

_Con._ Behind me? (_looking round_). There's n.o.body behind me.

_Ger._ I thought there was somebody behind you. William!--What can have become of William?

_Con._ I dare say aunt has sent him somewhere.

_Ger._ Then he's gone! he's gone!